Love masks

And love

is about masks

the make-up that makes-up

the lavish blush

of divine colour

the immemorial woo-dance

and the inevitable sweats

of maintaining the unsustainable

and then the undressing

and dress-down of knowing

caress of believed perfection

sharp pull back of hand

at wart and scar

the congenital dry skin of fallibility

abrasioned by the masking years

and the slow and difficult learning:

beauty doesn’t have to come smooth

or in pleasing geometries.

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